


Best Friends Forever

by thehotinpsychotic



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-04
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-01-18 04:04:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1414396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehotinpsychotic/pseuds/thehotinpsychotic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tyler and Frank have always been such best friends forever. But with high school comes new friends, and new obstacles. Frank meets Gerard, who Frank slowly develops a crush on. But will Frank be able to admit his feelings for his straight friend? And when Tyler ends up getting into a whole mess of trouble, can Frank help her? A tale of love and friendship that spirals into grief.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Freshman Year: September 1996

            I get up for school on August 23rd, and one thought is running through my mind: Shoot me in the head. I’ve had the shittiest summer of my life; not only were my parents divorced, but anxiety manifested itself in me, which is the reason why I’m holding back vomit. My stomach aches like someone had mistaken it for bread dough and have been kneading it for preparation of the baked good.

            My mom drops me off that morning, which, at my elitist high school, is a splendid reason to pick on someone, especially a freshman.

            I really don’t know any of the upper classmen all that well, so, needless to say, I’m extremely nervous as I enter the building. I grip the straps to my backpack, stone heavy with supplies, until my knuckles grow white. My locker is on the third floor, so I have to trudge up two large flights of stairs, which doesn’t help settle my stomach.

            I see Tyler as soon as I reach the third floor, sitting in front of a locker with her headphones in. This lifts a massive weight off of my chest, and I can’t repress my grin when I see her. I fight the urge to call her name and wave, knowing that this will prove my dorkiness to everyone. I collect myself and stride over to my locker, emptying out some unnecessary supplies and storing them towards the back. I keep my bag on, because in high school, everyone carries their backpack to all of their classes. It seems like it’ll be kinda fun; it reminds me of field trip days in grade school.

            I sit next to Tyler, groaning as I slide to the floor, which, granted, is only a 5’4” drop from my stature, but is still spiritually draining.

            Tyler hears me, and pulls one earbud out, extending it to me. “Hey, listen to this, Frankie.”

            She hits her play button, and the sound of an unfamiliar song fills my ears. “It’s good,” I decide after about twenty seconds. “What is it?”

            “ ‘How Do I Tell A Girl I Want To Kiss Her?’ by Modern Baseball!” Tyler shouts over the music, even though she doesn’t really have to, since it’s only in one ear.

            “Faggot.” 

            I hear the word spat by a passerby, and I don’t have to look to know that it’s directed at me. I take a peek anyways, to see a boy glaring at me. My eyes quickly dash back to the floor, not wanting to have any sort of a conflict.

            Tyler leans forward to evaluate me, her eyebrows knitted. She nudges me, worrying,

            “Frank? What’s wrong?”

            “Nothing,” I manage meekly.

            Tyler furrows her brows even further, and I can tell that she doesn’t believe me, and that she didn’t for even a second. But she knows I don’t want to talk about it, so she acts as if she had fallen for it, replying, “Okay.” She changes the song, and I can tell within a few moments that it’s “Helena” by the Misfits.

            I’m lucky enough to have three classes with Tyler, and those are vocal, Gifted And Talented, and art. Of course, the three courses that I’d be able to get by without a friend, are the only classes in which I have one. In my other classes, I thank the Lord for the almighty seating chart.

                My worst class of the day is indisputably Biology. The teacher drones on like a tape recording listing all the different species of flies, and I’m flanked by complete jerks who just talk over me the entire class period, even openly poking fun at me when they know I can hear them. They mainly make fun of my hair, which was recently cut into a black fringe with shaved blond sides. They also take the time out of their day to participate in prurient gesturing, and my, are they suggestive.

            I haven’t come out as gay, but this tidbit of trivial information is so well distributed throughout Ridgeview High School that it may as well be put into the announcements. My mom knows, and even in that situation, she was the one to take initiative and ask me if I was gay. I had started crying, begging her to I. Not tell Dad II. Don’t tell anyone else and III. Not to hate me. She hugged me, and cried some herself. I like to think that it’s not because her only grandchildren will be adopted, but because her son, only twelve at the time, was going through a hard time.

            Well, it’s been three God damned years, and this whole homosexuality thing is continuing to cause me grief. Tyler knows as well, and I was actually the one to tell her. I remember walking into her closet in seventh grade, and stepping out and simultaneously coming out of the closet figuratively and literally as I confided,

            “I’m gay.”

            Tyler had smiled knowingly. “I know, Frankie. I’ve always known.”

            I snap back into the present, back into the second lunch wave. Tyler isn’t in it, so I’m screwed as I walk into the cafeteria. I can’t find an empty table, so I sit on the far side of these two greasy haired kids who look like they spend their free time dealing drugs and exchanging each other’s head lice.

            The lunch isn’t as miserable as classes had been, but it’s not quite pleasant either. The two have this pungent odor that seems to seep into my food, so I end up dumping over half of it. I keep the milk, saving it for later and storing it into my backpack. I jump up after the bell rings; I’m so desperate to get the Hell out of there, away from them. I don’t like to be judgmental, but I can’t stand being around anyone who stinks. I don’t care if it’s fucking Logan Lerman, if he’s smelly, I’m bailing.   

            I travel through the halls without a purpose, and when I walk home that day, I feel like every part of me has died.


	2. Chapter 2

            I go to school the next day, anticipating the exact same scholastic and social torture. All of my classes are identical to the ones yesterday, but at 4th period Spanish, an interesting development occurs.

            Yesterday, the seat in front of me had been empty. This tidbit remained true today, until the bell rings and in walks a boy.

            I’ve never seen him before. He rushes into the classroom as if a tardy is the equivalent to an eternity in Hell. He’s sloppily dressed; he wears a black sweatshirt over wrinkled camouflage cargo shorts. He runs a hand through his jaw bone length, greasy black hair, and his pullover rides up enough so that a strip of his blue boxer briefs can be seen.

            “Mr. Way. Absent on the first day of school, tardy the second,” the teacher, Mr. Ross, chides. He smirks at the boy. “You are certainly starting out freshman year with a bang.”

            The boy blushes, and he does look truly sorry as he apologizes, “I’m sorry, Mr. Ross.”

            “That’s what they all say. Your excuses fail to impress me,” Mr. Ross replies. “Why don’t you stop wasting our time and take a seat.”

            “Where?” he asks.

            Mr. Ross lets out a dramatic sigh. “The _only_ vacant seat in the room, next to Mr. Iero.”

            The boy blushes again, and shuffles over next to me, dropping himself in the seat next to me with force. He takes out his notebook and a pencil, and starts to draw a figure. I watch him as I half-heartedly listen to today’s lesson.

            Mr. Ross stops in the middle of a sentence, scolding,

            “Mr. Way! I’m sure you’re aware that this is not art class.”

            The boy scowls and puts his notebook away, looking as though he might cry. Now, I hardly ever cry, and even I can’t blame the kid. If I was emotionally battered in front of a room of my peers for forty minutes, I’d want to cry, too.

            “Mr. Way,” Mr. Ross begins.

            The boy looks up expectantly.

            “Care to see me after class?”

            The boy sulks, but still nods regardless.

            After class, I decide to talk to the kid. I hang out by the doorway, pretending to read a copy of the announcements posted outside. When he steps out, I walk next to him and grab his arm asking, “Hey, are you okay? Mr. Ross can be sort of a dick sometimes.”

            “More like a giant dick,” the boy mumbles. He adds, “But I’m fine, thanks for asking.”

            I don’t know what to say next, so I force a smile. The boy struggles to return one, but can’t, and turns as if he’s going to go away. Flustered, I offer,

            “You know, I don’t really have anything to do after school. We could hang out.”

            The boy stops, and grins. “Sounds fun. Find me after school? My locker’s 355.”

            “Sure,” I agree.

            “By the way, I’m Gerard,” he greets.

            “Frank,” I reply. I give him one last smile before heading down the hall, and that time, it wasn’t forced.

            I spend most of my day thinking about Gerard, about how this will work out. I find myself in a stripe of luck at lunch, to see Gerard sitting by himself. I strut over, tossing my bag onto the table.

            “Hey,” Gerard greets, nose buried in a book. He bookmarks the page then closes it, tucking it away into his bag.

            “Hi,” I reply.

            “Do you want to hear some bullshit?” Gerard asks.

            “Oh, I’m always up for bullshit,” I reply.

            “Mr. Ross says that if he catches me with a pencil in my hand with the exception of tests, quizzes, and worksheets, I have an hour detention,” Gerard answers.

            My mouth drops open. “What? That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

            “He hates me,” Gerard scowls.

            “I wish I could say he didn’t,” I murmur.

            Gerard nudges me, mentioning, “Hey, my house after school?”

            “Why your house?” I retort.

            Gerard shrugs. “My home is ran by irresponsible parents. Not only do they leave  my sibling and I alone at all times of the day, but my house is a haven for booze and weed, and I have a little brother who’d never tell.” Gerard confidently puts his feet up on the table and leans back in his chair. “It’s kind of the shit.”

            My heart skips a couple of beats at the mentioning of drugs, but I decide to let it slide. “You’ve only been in town for how long and you’ve already found a dealer?”

            Gerard shakes his head. “No, I’m terrible at finding them. All of the stuff I have now is from my old dealer, who I happened to be friends with.”

            “I can introduce you to one, if you want,” I suggest.

            I’ve met this dealer from the one time he offered to sell me a dildo. I had politely declined. Not only does he sell drugs, but also vibrators, lubricant, dental dams, and all sorts of sex toys. Basically, he sells anything that’s hard to access at our age.

            “What’s his name, and how old is he?” Gerard asks.

            “He’s in the grade above me, and his name’s Patrick,” I reply.

            Gerard smirks.

            “What?”

            Gerard answers, “A drug dealer named Patrick? What does he sell, Ibuprofen?”

            “He sells cough syrup, heroin, cocaine, anything basically,” I reply. “Oh, and pocket pussies.”

            Gerard snorts before he laughs, and I giggle at how dorky and cute he is.

            Whoa, cute? No, absolutely not. Well…. Maybe in like a little kid sort of a way. Would I want to see him playing with a puppy? Of course. But would I want to see him straddling a bed naked? Probably not.

            So, Gerard is cute like a baby’s cute. He’s not a sexual being, period. I bet if I’d pulled down his pants on the spot, he’d be flat in the front like a Ken doll.

            Gerard snaps his fingers, snapping me out of my thoughts so hard I’m surprised I’m not inflicted with whip lash. “Hey? So you’re coming to my house?”

            I nod.

            Gerard grins. “Awesome.”


	3. Chapter 3

After school I find Gerard at his locker. He opens it, grabs a brown bag deep from within it, and proceeds to shove the entire thing down the front of his pants.

            “What are you doing?” I ask.

            Gerard’s eyes flash side to side. He murmurs, “Good; no one saw.” He then bops me on top of the head, fake scolding, “None of your business!”

            He rushes out to his car, moving so quickly and in such large strides that I have to skip to keep up with him. He unlocks the car and hops in, gesturing for me to enter the passenger’s side. I do as I’m told, and Gerard puts the keys in, starting the car. He flips through the radio, finally letting out a frustrated groan. He begins to rummage through the various items littering the floor of his car.

            Someone knocks on the back door window. I glance over to see a scrawny kid with glasses peering in. I jump in surprise, and nudge Gerard, whispering,

            “Some creepy kid wants in!”

            Gerard glances up, brows knitted, and then he relaxes into a smile. “Oh, that’s just Mikey, my little brother.” He unlocks the car, and Mikey steps into the back seat, throwing his bag against the opposite window.

            “Who’s the midget?” Mikey asks.

            I blush, and Gerard just chuckles and answers,

            “This is Frank.”

            Mikey snorts, demanding, “Frank? What kind of a name is that?”

            “W-well what kind of a name is Mikey?” I stammer.

            Mikey shrugs, opening a nudie magazine. “You tell me, but try not to stutter.”

            I again redden, and Gerard scolds,

            “Mikey, quit it. You’re embarrassing him.”

            That makes me go even more crimson.

            Mikey nudges me with the magazine, trying to hand it to me.

            “No thanks,” I mutter.

            Mikey tilts his head in confusion. “Haven’t you ever seen a vagina before?”

            “Michael!” Gerard barks. “That’s not something you ask someone!”

            Mikey slinks back in his seat, retorting, “Frank, what are you, gay?”

            “Actually, yes,” I admit.

            The car gets eerily quiet, Gerard with his forehead pressed into the steering wheel, and Mikey studying his nails.

            “Apologize, Mikes,” Gerard orders.

            “I’m… I’m sorry,” Mikey mumbles.

            “It’s okay,” I reply.

            Gerard starts up the car, pulling out of the parking lot.

            We park in front of Gerard’s house, and step out of the car. Literally a second later one of the jocks’ car pulls up not six feet behind it. He quickly catches up to Gerard, wrapping one hand around the back of his neck. “Hey, freak. I heard that Mr. Ross tore you a new one.”

            “Y-yeah, I guess you could say that,” Gerard utters, becoming flustered.

            I step out of the car, and the jock turns to me, snarling at me, “You stay the fuck away from me, faggot.”

            Gerard breaks free from his grasp and shoves the much larger and taller boy. “Hey, asshole! You can’t talk to him like that.”

            The jock grabs Gerard by the throat and presses him up against the back of the car. He reaches down the back of Gerard’s trousers, his hand resurfacing with a bundle of Gerard’s blue underwear. He yanks up, bringing Gerard to his tippy toes and then completely lifting him off of the ground. Gerard yelps out, and he turns scarlet as the jerk proceeds.

            I storm over, throwing myself at the kid, with no real objective other than to get him away from Gerard. He grabs me by the middle and tosses me off to the ground, sending me skidding back on my ass. He walks over, pulling my shirt over my head and punching me once in the stomach. He dismisses me back to the side of the street, warning,

            “Way, Iero, you’re both on my shit list now. So you better be watching your backs!” He motions to Mikey, who’s been sitting silently in the car the entire time. “And keep your weirdo younger brother away too; I don’t care if he’s thirteen, I’ll kick his ass too!” He storms off to the house next to Gerard’s, huffing and puffing.

            I run over to Gerard, who is now leaning against the back of the car, eyes fixed to the ground.

            “Are you okay?” I question.

            “Thanks,” Gerard mutters in response, not answering my question. He grabs me by the shoulder, guiding me towards his house. “Let’s go inside.”

            We go down to the basement, which is oddly enough where Gerard’s room is located. Once we get down there, he tosses himself onto the bed. He reaches down the front of his waistband, stuffing his entire hand inside.

            “What are you-” I begin.

            Gerard pulls out the paper bag from earlier. He opens it, pulling out a smaller bag, unrolls that, producing another bag, and finally, removes the contents of that bag, which reveals a small zip lock full of weed. He takes a nearby sheet of paper, ripping a strand off. I watch him as he lays marijuana over the top of it, and then roll sit up, licking it to seal the edges. He pats his pockets. “Shit. Got a light, Frank?”

            I shake my head. “Sorry, no.”

            “Fuck,” Gerard whines. He sticks the joint back into the plastic baggie, returning this to its respective bag. “Maybe later.”

            “You smoke dope?” I ask in amazement.

            “Well, yeah,” Gerard answers. “Can’t you tell by my smell?”

            I shrug. “I don’t really know what weed smells like, I guess.”

            “So you agree that I smell?” Gerard challenges.

            “I never said that,” I insist.

            Gerard giggles, “Jesus Christ, Frankie, I was just fucking around, no need to get your panties in a wad.”

            My cheeks flush, and Gerard grins at this. “So, Frank, do you have a boyfriend?”

            I shake my head. “No one at our school is gay, really. And even if they were, they’d probably be too embarrassed to date me.”

            “I wouldn’t be,” Gerard answers. “You seem like a good kid.”

            “Well, no one at school cars about that. I’m not cool, I’m too weird, and I’m gay. Not exactly the best combination,” I confess.

            Gerard places a hand on my knee in a form of comfort. “Someday, likely college, you’ll find your friends.”

            “I have friends!” I snap.’

            “Name five,” Gerard orders.

            “Well… not that many,” I confide.

            “You don’t have to lie around me, Frank,” Gerard coaxes. “It’s okay; I won’t judge you.”

            There’s some silence, and finally, Gerard asks,

            “So how close is this dealer? Can we walk there?”

            “We’ll go tomorrow before school,” I reply. “That’s easiest. Outside the back doors?”

            Gerard nods. He hides his weed beneath his mattress, and we spend most of the afternoon playing video games. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Please comment, and leave a kudos if you enjoyed it! I'll try to update soon. 
> 
> Vote for me here: http://poll.pollcode.com/45312998 and I'll write you a fanfic, read yours, or rate your blog on Tumblr or anything else you can think of. 
> 
> My tumblr: www.varsity-frank.tumblr.com


	4. Chapter 4

        I end up asking my mom to spend the night via text, and she doesn’t seem too happy about not knowing Gerard or his parents, but she gives in after I lie to her about Gerard helping me with math.

        We hang out in his room and watch Netflix, and it’s seven p.m. when I open my Algebra book and he asks, “Frank? What are you doing?”

        I gesture towards the textbook with my pencil, responding sarcastically, “What does it look like I’m doing?”

       “Looks like you’re studying to be professor at Pussy University,” Gerard replies, reaching over and shutting the book. It’s 7 o’clock on a Thursday night, for Christ’s sakes, live a little.”

        “Oh? And how would I do that?” I challenge.

        “I’m not saying rob a bank, but don’t break out the Algebra before nine o’clock,” Gerard retorts. “Come on, let’s do something fun.”

        “Like what?” I ask skeptically. “I don’t know if you noticed, but this town fucking sucks. There’s nothing to do on the weekends, what makes you think there’d be something to do on a Thursday?”

       Gerard shrugs, replying, “I dunno. Excuse me for believing in self-produced fun.”

       “What’s that supposed to mean?” I question.

       “It means not relying on malls and shit to have a good time,” Gerard answers. “It means not having to go to the cool kids’ party tonight, which I wasn’t invited to. It means to make the best of what you’re given. Fucking carpe diem dude, I want to do something, and I want to do it now.”

       My eyebrows are raised, Gerard’s words being the single most intelligent thing to come out of his mouth all day. “Okay, I guess. What do you have in mind?”

       “Why don’t we go outside and see where the night takes us?” Gerard suggests. “Leave your wallet, leave your keys, hell, and don’t even bring your phone. Just don’t think for once, just act.”

       With that, Gerard tosses his phone onto his bed and leaves. I rush to follow, pulling on my shoes and grabbing a hoodie.

       Gerard leads us outside, where he wanders over to the garage, disappearing inside its mess.

       “What are you doing?” I sigh.

       Gerard resurfaces with a bat, ordering, “Follow me.”

       He cuts through backyards, staying low to the ground and whispering at me to do the same. I follow hesitantly, almost running into him when he halts.

       “What, what is it?” I hiss.

       “We’re here,” Gerard answers.

       “Whose house is this?” I squint, trying to make out where we are.

       “Whose do you think?” Gerard scowls. With that, he tosses the bat at a window, then sprinting back to where we came from. I run to keep up, panting as I trail Gerard all the way back to his house, where he slips in through the back door. I follow him down to his basement, where he lies back in bed, seemingly satisfied.

       “What the fuck was that?” I demand.

       “That was Jared’s house,” Gerard answers simply. “You know, that shit head that thought it’d be funny to ram my underwear up my ass?”

       “Why… why’d you do that? I can’t believe you!” I stand doubled over, still struggling to catch my breath.

       “He deserves it,” Gerard insists.

       I shake my head, disagreeing, “No, no he doesn’t. Gerard, I don’t think you get it, you fucking broke a window.”

       “Oh no!” Gerard scoffs. He stands, pushing past me as he mutters, “I did the same thing in first grade. Accidentally, of course.”

       I follow him upstairs, continuing, “You shouldn’t have done that; what if someone saw you?” Seeing that he’s heading for the bathroom, I turn my back on him, standing with my arms crossed.

       I hear his zipper followed by the sound of him peeing. As he goes, he responds, “So be it.”

       “Gerard, all he did was give you a wedgie,” I groan. “You took it too far.”

       “That’s not all he did,” Gerard mumbles. The toilet flushes, and he retreats back to the basement, forcing me to again follow him.

       “What else did he do, then?” I question.

       “I don’t want to talk about it,” Gerard grumbles, lying in bed. He turns on the TV, running a hand through his hair. He then curls over the side of his bed, pulling out a bottle of Schnapps, which he uncaps and takes a swig of. Licking his lips, he hands me the drink, which I give back to him. “You don’t drink?”

       “No,” I answer honestly.

       Gerard shrugs, taking another few gulps before tucking it away with a shudder.

       “Seriously, what’d he do to you?” I ask.

       “I really don’t want to talk about it, okay?” Gerard snaps. “Just forget about it.”

       I stand there, toeing the edge of his rug. “You were the kid that got beat up in the bathroom, weren’t you?”

       Gerard sits quietly, ignoring me. So I proceed, “I heard about it, kids saying that some new kid was getting his ass kicked in the second floor boys’ room. I heard some commotion from there myself, so I was quick to believe them. It was after third period, and I had to go to class so I never did see who it was.”

       Gerard dips his head, and I realize, “Oh god, that’s why you were late to Spanish, wasn’t it? Is that why your hair was all fucked up and your clothes all wrinkly and-”

       “Shut up,” Gerard growls. “I swear to God if you tell anyone-”

        “I wouldn’t do that,” I assure. “Just…” I laugh a little, advising, “Don’t let him find out about the baseball bat thing.”

       Gerard giggles, telling, “His whole family was at the game. That’s why I did it tonight.”

       I grin and sit next to him. We continue to watch movies until we fall asleep in our day clothes. I hadn’t showered, my phone was uncharged, and my homework wasn’t done. The nice part was, I didn’t even give any of these things a second thought. 


	5. Chapter 5

       Gerard and I head to school the next morning, making a pit stop in the outdoor bathroom to meet Patrick, the local drug dealer.

       Patrick’s sitting on the sink and smoking, and upon seeing us, he hops down, whipping his cigarette to the floor. “What can I get you boys?” He adds, “Frank, did you change your mind on that dildo?”

       I turn scarlet, replying, “I’m going to have to pass.”

       “What’re you here for then?” Patrick asks.

       “I’m actually here to get some weed, and maybe some cigarettes if you have any,” Gerard cuts in.

       Patrick scoffs, answering, “Of course I’ve got fucking cigarettes. How many packs?”

       “Two,” Gerard mumbles.

       Patrick swings his backpack off his shoulders and onto the floor, pulling out three differently filled baggies of marijuana. Gerard chooses the 650`school with me.

       We go up to the third floor, and as we climb the stairs, I tell Gerard, “I’m going to introduce you to my friend Tyler. She’s really cool.”

       “Ah, sounds good,” Gerard decides. I spot her and wave, jogging slightly to meet her. He tails me, realizing, “Wait, did you say ‘she’?”

       “Frank!” Tyler greets. She smacks me in the arm, scolding, “Dude, I texted you last night and you never answered. I thought you died or something.”

       “Sorry about that,” I apologize. Although I recall no text messages from her, I’m sure that Gerard just could’ve been that much of a distraction. “Hey, I want you to meet my friend.”

       Tyler stands on her tip toes to meet Gerard’s eye level. “Is that who this is?”

       “Yeah,” Gerard answers. “Y-you’re Tyler?”

       Tyler nods, asking, “And you are?”

       “Gerard.”

       Tyler hums happily, commenting, “Gerard. That’s a pretty name.”

       Gerard opens his mouth to say something, but the bell rings and rudely interrupts. Once the ringing ceases, he stammers, “I’ll-I’ll uh… see you guys later.”

       Tyler waves as he leaves, and on our walk back to class, she tells me, “I like him. He’s really cute, Frank.”

       “Yeah,” I agree.

       “So you’re into him?” Tyler asks.

       I make a face at her, bugging my eyes and furrowing my brows. “What? No!”

       “You said he was cute,” she points out, cracking her gum.

       “Yeah, and I think dogs are cute too, but I’m not so into them,” I grumble.

       Tyler nods, then muttering, “Wait, what?”

       “Okay, bad analogy, I’ll admit that. But I don’t like Gerard, okay? Not like that. We’re friends.”

       She rolls her eyes. She doesn’t believe me, and it pisses me off a little that she’d assume I have a crush on someone just because I agreed they’re good looking.

       We part ways not long after the conversation’s over, and I’m thankful for it.

       It’s the dreaded Biology class where I realize that the boy Gerard hates so badly, Jared, is the same asshole that had sat next to me that day. He seems to notice, too; his eyes light up when he sees me, and he grins maliciously.

       I sit down at my assigned spot between him and his friend, who smirks, “Hey, Skunk Boy.”

       “What?” I ask.

       “Skunk Boy,” he repeats. He winces, gesturing at his own head as he explains, “You know, your hair?”

       “That haircut is rather unfortunate,” Jared agrees. He tells his friend, “So was running into this little prick yesterday. Him and his boyfriend.”

       His friend, a junior named Eric, asks, “You mean the Twilight kid?”

       “Yeah, him. I see them by my house, right? Guess what I did.”

       “What?”

       Jared wraps an arm around my neck, making my throat tighten. I panic internally as his grip only gets stronger. “I choked out Way and gave him a wedgie. Iero here tried to interrupt, so I had to sock him once.”

       “Dude, the teacher’s coming in,” Eric hisses to Jared.

       Jared shoves me away, mouthing at me, “You’re fucking dead.”

       Eric and Jared berate me throughout the class, and it’s when Jared is calling me a pussy that I ask, “Hey Jared, I heard your window got broken.”

       Jared stops, growling, “How would you know?”

       I exaggerate an exhale, running a hand through my hair. “Well, I mean, it was pretty loud. I was right next door at my freak boyfriend’s house, remember? Of course, I could barely hear it over the sound of him sucking me off.”

       Eric bursts into laughter. “Jesus Christ, kid!”

       “You’re such a faggot,” Jared spits, then turning his attention to the teacher for the first time all period.

       I make a mental note that if I want to get them to leave me alone, the only way is through lies about getting off with other dudes.

       Too bad that doesn’t work on teachers. In Spanish, Mr. Ross rips me a new one for not having my homework done. Still, it pales in comparison to the way he treats Gerard. It’s almost like he’s looking for excuses to yell at him, which is nothing new. The worst part is, the class totally eggs Mr. Ross on, some even making comments whenever he disciplines Gerard. By the end of the period, Gerard’s almost in tears and I’m sick to my stomach.

       Again, I talk to him after class. But now he’s really is crying by the time he walks out of there. He rushes straight to the restroom, and I run to catch up, just to have a stall door slammed in my face.

       I can still hear him sobbing, and I tap on the door softly. “Gerard?”

       My only response is crying, so I continue, “Gerard, are you okay?”

       “I don’t want to talk about it,” Gerard sniffles. “Fucking Jared!”

       “What, what’d he do?” I worry. I rap on the door when I get no response, repeating, “What was it?”

       “Damn it, I said I don’t want to talk about it!” he cries. I hear banging from inside the stall, and it takes me a few moments to realize that it’s Gerard hitting his head against the sides.

       I stand there, unsure of what to do. “Gerard, its lunch time.”

       “I’m listening.”

       “They’re having orange chicken,” I persuade. “With rice and a cookie.”

       Two shoes meet the ground from inside the stall. I back up in time for the door to swing open, Gerard standing there with blotted eyes. He mumbles, “I do like Chinese food.”

       I can’t help but laugh, and he chuckles too. We head down to lunch, and I keep in mind that while I didn’t fix Mr. Ross or tell him off, I did help Gerard, which was way more important anyways.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! This is not the only chapter, so I'll try to update soon!
> 
> My Tumblr: www.varsity-frank.tumblr.com


End file.
